The Northern Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  She trembled, startled by fantasies such as she’d never allowed herself to be lost in before.

  The kitchen door swung open and Grainger returned, carrying a laden tray.

  Lucas’s eyes flickered over Mrs. Davis. Her eyes had lost much of that flat stare and her cheeks were gaining color. Dammit, he wished he had the time to go back and kill Collins, for having put so much terror into her face.

  The old anger surged up again, making him aware of his dirk. He broke stride for a moment, but quickly regained control. She was safe here. And if Collins had the idiocy to come searching for her, Lucas would take the greatest delight in teaching him better treatment of women. He grinned privately at some of the options he’d learned for teaching brutes and moved forward. “I brought simple food, ma’am. Ham sandwiches, beans, coffee.”

  He set the tray down on the table next to her. She smiled shyly up at him and his pulse skipped a ridiculous beat. It had barely steadied by the time he was settled into a chair facing her and they were both munching on sandwiches, washed down with cups of fresh coffee.

  She ate rapidly at first then slowed, until she was almost picking at the excellent meat and bread.

  Lucas observed her covertly but said nothing, allowing her to eat in peace. Judging by the tight lines around her mouth, it had been far too long since she’d been allowed to relax.

  She laid down an uneaten piece of her sandwich and he came fully alert, unaccustomed to anyone leaving food untouched on the Empress. “Are you finished? Would you care for a piece of jam cake? It’s Lawson’s—the cook’s—specialty.”

  She smiled at him, a bit tremulously but quite sweetly.

  His lungs seized. No woman had ever given him that look before.

  “Jam cake? I haven’t had any of that since we had to let all of Elias’s old servants go after his death, including Cook.”

  Lucas frowned and set his own plate down. Why the devil would she have needed to fire Davis’s servants? “What do you mean?”

  She propped her chin on her hand, gazing into a past whose shadows concealed no joys. “Collins used every possible threat he could to force me into an engagement with his son,” she said softly.

  Lucas came to his feet in a rush, unable to sit still, willing to meet even an old danger with violence. “He did what? What made him think he could get away with that?”

  The deep lines around her mouth tightened, as if etched in vinegar and salt tears. “We had no private friends of sufficient power or wealth to challenge him. The other trustees cared only for public appearances, their legal duties as trustees, and their personal interests in the estate—which covered the library, the art, the gardens, and the horses. The grooms and the gardeners were safe but nobody else. I begged the trustees for help but—” Her voice roughened and she took refuge in her coffee.

  “The negligent slugs!” He began to pace, picturing how those well-dressed, oily men must have looked down their noses at any suggestion they’d take action on behalf of the lower orders. His fingers flexed, automatically reaching for his Colts. “What next?

  “Collins learned very quickly that I would do a great deal to protect the household servants—except marry his son.” Her tone was flat, almost conversational.

  What an appallingly deadly game of cat and mouse she’d been forced to play. “Did you run the Davis household? Did he have the opportunity to make demands?”

  “Yes, I nominally gave the orders. But he could cause a good deal of—mischief, since he controlled the accounts.” A pulse throbbed in her temple and her fingers clenched on the delicate silverware in her hand, until her knuckles turned white.

  Lucas froze, brought on alert. He waited to learn just how harshly he’d need to mete out justice.

  “One day, he announced that all the indoors servants would be paid two dollars a month until Maitland was given the key to the housemaids’ quarters.”

  She rose to her feet, as if even sitting still left her besmirched by memories.

  Lucas’s beloved dirk slipped into his hand, ready for use. “The devil he did! Did he honestly think he could use Davis’s house as a brothel?”

  “I countered that by sending them all off on year-long vacations.” A wicked smile blossomed on her face, a startling match for such purity. “With excellent references, of course.”

  His head jerked back in surprise, then he bowed from his waist in homage, quickly returning his dirk to its sheath. “That was cunning of you! Sherman himself would have been outfoxed by such tactics.”

  She smiled, a bit wryly, and began to pace, her train’s ruffles swirling. “Collins was furious, since he’d meant to use the Davis mansion as his own.”

  Lucas searched her face, hearing more echoes of a battle fought long and hard. “What happened next?”

  “He turned on Mother and my sister.” Her expression stilled, obscuring any signs of the enchanting plotter. “After a few weeks, he shanghaied us to his family’s estate in the Elizabeth Islands. He said we’d stay there until we rotted or I married Maitland.”

  Lucas slammed his fist against the paneling. “Wouldn’t someone help you?”

  Her mouth tightened for a moment before she hid the unusual display of umbrage. “No, not even then.”

  “And the other trustees were all baa’ing like sheep under the Collins crook, I suppose, while they enjoyed the use of the Davis stable and artwork!”

  Rachel Davis choked—thankfully, with near-hysterical laughter, not disgust.

  He bit back a string of curses before he could reply to her. “How are your mother and sister now?”

  “Safely on their way to London, thank God.” Relief brightened her countenance. “I diverted Collins’s attention at Jersey City long enough to allow them to escape their guards and board a ferry for Manhattan. According to Maitland, they caught a packet for London. Knowing they’re out of harm’s way has been my only comfort these last two days.”

  She had managed to bamboozle Collins and his array of hardened sailors? Amazing. He’d have to make sure she never faced such dangers again.

  “Well done, Mrs. Davis. I’m sure the Lord will watch over them for the remainder of their journey. I’ll cable my London man of affairs to meet them.”

  “Thank you. They should be happy in Oxford with my father’s friends.”

  She paused for a moment, straightening the tassels on one of the curtains. He waited, every sense alert for trouble.

  “I must thank you for rescuing me, from the slum and from Collins’s men. If it hadn’t been for you, I know I’d be dead—or worse—by now.” She smiled brilliantly, her eyes sweeping over him as if he was some sort of knight in shining armor.

  Surely she couldn’t think that of him.

  “My pleasure, but it truly is what any decent man would do.” His jaw tightened at how poorly the men of Boston had behaved toward her before he continued. “I’m deeply sorry you had to endure such trials in order to escape,” he continued, forcing his hands not to double-check his Colts. Or better yet—his beloved dirk. She needed comfort more than he needed to kill Collins. “I have been following you since Chicago, in hopes of helping you. Please believe that as Major Davis’s widow, you command my full support in whatever you want.”

  She chuckled rather weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Grainger. But I’m afraid the only step that will keep me from returning to Mr. Collins’s custody is marriage.”

  Lucas gaped at her, caught totally off guard. “Marriage? What do you mean? I thought you inherited the Davis fortune outright, with the trust created for its management until you remarried.”

  She laughed more believably this time, a little color returning to her cheeks. “No, nothing like that. Father Davis left his fortune to Elias, then to Elias and my children after that.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him and waited.

  He puzzled over the unusual phrasing for a moment. “And yours? Do you mean that the pattern of inheritance was to Elias Davis first, then his children, and final
ly your children?”

  “Exactly.” She added fresh coffee to her cup, her hand not nearly as steady as her tone.

  “And since he died childless, everything goes to your children.”

  “My legitimate children.”

  “Good Lord, Collins must have been after you day and night to marry that son of his, in order to beget grandchildren!”

  She flinched, sending the cup rattling over the saucer, and started to set it down.

  Completely forgetting the need to be gentle around her, Lucas gripped her wrist. “Mrs. Davis, they won’t take you back, I swear. Donovan & Sons’ men are patrolling the area around this railroad car now. You’re safe here.”

  “Maitland Collins tried to force his attentions on me this evening.”

  A growl vibrated deep within Lucas’s throat and his hand wrapped around his knife.

  “I successfully—but bloodily—defended myself. I believe he still lives.” She swallowed hard, her pulse drumming in her throat. “According to the trust’s terms, Mr. Collins is the principal trustee and controls all the money and properties, subject only to the other trustees. If he goes to a court, it will send me back to him. Can you stand against that?”

  He smiled at her, deliberately baring his teeth. “It would give me great pleasure to do so.”

  She gaped. “Mr. Grainger, you cannot be serious!”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. He probably didn’t have enough cash for all of the necessary bribes, but he could certainly make it very painful for the bastard. “Entirely.”

  She closed her eyes and said firmly, “I will forget you said that. I’m concerned that your methods might be extremely illegal.”

  His mouth twitched, but he remained silent.

  Her eyes swept over him.

  He frowned for a moment, before banishing it. Had she studied him, as a woman considers a man she finds attractive? Surely not—and yet, he could have sworn her gaze had lingered overly long below his face. His cock stirred.

  “Even so, I must remarry and quickly,” Rachel announced.

  Marriage to someone else? Well, he’d always known it would happen one day. But it seemed more wrenching now that he’d carried her and known the softness of her in his arms, and the sweet smell of her in his nose.

  “There is no time for a protracted struggle against Collins, here in Omaha. It is vital that he be immediately cut off from all revenues, especially as my trustee.”

  Lucas at once came fully alert, recognizing her sharpened tone. “Why is it so urgent?”

  “He means to trap William Donovan at the Bluebird Mine and kill him.”

  “Murder Donovan? Why, that bast—toadstool!”

  She nodded agreement. “But if he’s no longer my trustee—”

  His mind was racing, considering the implications—and half-aware that her presence might be so distracting as to overset his logic “Then he can’t give orders to the men at the Bluebird Mine in your name.”

  Her pacing brought her less than a foot from him. She stopped with a small gasp and pivoted, swishing her train out of his way. Did she glance too long at him over her shoulder? But if so, she wasn’t behaving like a woman who knew how to flirt.

  “Yes. Elias bought the mine several years ago from an old friend, who needed to raise cash. He also sold an interest to Donovan, as part of a bigger deal.”

  “So Humphreys, the mine’s manager, has always answered to Boston.”

  She sank down onto the settee by the coffee tray. “Exactly. I’ll need to tell him personally that I’ve remarried so he won’t help Collins in any way.”

  Every protective instinct in Lucas revolted. “No! You won’t go anywhere near the Bluebird, not if there’s about to be a murder attempt.”

  She raised a haughty eyebrow. Ah, that was more like the woman he was acquainted with—who enjoyed challenging his mind, not his loins.

  He relaxed, ready for a pleasant round of debate.

  “Mr. Grainger, it’s critical that an innocent man’s life be saved. That’s far more important than any polite folderol about not sending women into danger. I’m certain that once Mr. Humphreys understands I’ve remarried, he won’t assist Mr. Collins, and all will be well.”

  A Nevada mine supervisor fall into line like a sheep when she crooked her finger? Appalled at her optimism, Lucas opened his mouth to roar objections, but she was still talking.

  “No, what I need your help for is to find another husband. Immediately—before Mr. Collins can take legal steps to regain my custody.”

  Lucas frowned. Rachel Davis and another man—in her wedding bed? Someone certain to be honorable, polite, and respectful even in the bedroom.

  He growled, deep in his throat, and began to stride up and down the carpet.

  Like hell anyone else was climbing into her bed, if she was willing to accept a marriage of convenience!

  But marry her himself?

  He swallowed hard.

  She was right: The best way to protect Donovan’s life, given Collins’s malice, was for her to marry. He owed Donovan a blood debt for helping him avenge Ambrosia that his life alone would not repay—but his honor would. Marrying Rachel would even the scales.

  Did his old vow never to marry carry any weight against saving Donovan’s life?

  He grimaced and spun on his heel. No.

  Dear God, if she ripped him apart the way Ambrosia had…

  But Rachel was his friend. She wasn’t looking for love, just protection and companionship. They could build a solid union together on that basis.

  But in marrying her, there’d be the necessity of siring children. For the first time in his life, he’d have to hope that his seed would set fruit. Fruit that could grow to become a little child, vibrant and alive, beautiful, intelligent, happy to see him. A true family, in other words, and his oldest dream.

  He began to smile.

  A child, laughing, running and playing, vulnerable…

  The oldest nightmare blasted through his skull, of black hair and sodden blue skirts rippling in the waves.

  He froze in his tracks but forced himself to move, driving the vision back with plans. Cowering had never helped against that terror.

  He’d have to watch his child very carefully to make sure it never came to any harm. He’d do anything—anything in the damn world—to keep it safe.

  Lucas turned back to face Rachel Davis, allowing himself to consider her as his wife. She looked enticing as hell seated there, delicately nibbling on a ham sandwich.

  “Tonight?” he ventured, startled by how fast some of the visions crowded into his brain and heated his blood. She was such an elegant lady, resembling the goddess of wisdom far more than Venus.

  She nodded, looking a little pale, and peeped at him from under her lashes. “If possible. An honorable man, of course.”

  “Certainly,” he managed, his thoughts whirling inside his head. “Let me think about it a little more.”

  He’d always sworn never to take a wife, certain that his overwhelming carnal urges would lead him to dishonor his marriage vows by taking a succession of lovers. As both of his parents, all of his father’s siblings, and three of his grandparents had. And blatantly enough that he’d been well aware of their behavior before he’d turned twelve. He was more than willing to enjoy sensual pleasures—but not at the price of dishonor.

  If he married Rachel Davis, he’d have to keep his vows and be faithful to her alone for the rest of his days. Oh, the delights he could enjoy with her. To finally be able to explore the wonders of her sweet breasts, or kiss his way down that elegant spine…

  He shot her a sideways glance, noting how her slender fingers curled around the bread. If he did this, he’d have her in his bed for the rest of his life.

  Besides, what did any of that matter against the need to protect her from Collins? The pig had genuine power in Boston, given his centuries-old family and their shipping line, but he’d have a harder time standing against the Graingers.

&n
bsp; Besides, it would also infuriate his family if he married a woman who came from a less than aristocratic family, even if she did bring a fortune with her.

  He started to grin. They’d always seen him only as a breeding machine. Well, he’d be siring children for his purposes, and Donovan’s, in this match, not for theirs. Marvelous.

  “Will you marry me, Mrs. Davis?” he asked briskly. “Tonight? I’m sure we can find a minister here in town.”

  She dropped her sandwich, almost upsetting her coffee cup. “You? Isn’t there anyone else?”

  His mouth twisted at her clearly unflattering opinion of him. It had been years since he’d been put in his place so effectively. “Not that I can find within the next few hours.”

  She blushed and clumsily blotted the table with her napkin. “Please forgive me if I offended you but, but I always thought you’d never marry anyone. Why me? Why now?”

  “Your situation has made me reconsider my objections to the institution of marriage.”

  Her jaw set. “No, that’s not enough. We’re good friends. Let that continue to be our relationship.”

  Why the devil was she objecting so strongly? “Collins will be here in a few hours.”

  Terror flashed into her eyes. “No!” She controlled herself with a visible effort and shifted ground to something more reasonable, while still guarding her expression. “You’ve told me nothing of your reasons.”

  Dammit, would she always make him think and speak of things he’d prefer not to?

  He gave her logic, but not all of it. She was no flighty female to be swayed by nonsense wrapped up in fanciful sentiment. “I am here and you already know me as your friend. I have the money and family connections to defeat Collins. Your husband was my first commander and Donovan has saved my life. Unless you have someone else in mind—”

  He paused but she said nothing, her expression unreadable. If she’d look at him, if he could feel her eyes rest on him again, he’d be more confident.

  “I submit myself to you as the best candidate available. Rachel—”